She paused. "Oh, both, I believe."

He laughed, enjoying the answering sparkle in her eyes. Before he had time to continue their conversation, various lights around the theater were dimmed, while the curtains on stage were drawn back to reveal a painted panorama that depicted the Danish castle of Elsinore. Calls for quiet erupted from the pit as the actors took their places.

Leaning back in his chair, Edward listened to the familiar opening lines.

Claire's skin tingled along the back of her neck and shoulders as she did her best to watch the action unfolding below. She'd never attended a performance of this caliber before, having seen only the pantomimes and the traveling Punch and Judy shows at the occasional county fair. A troupe of Shakespearean actors had played near Marsden Manor a time or two over the years, but she hadn't been allowed to attend, the nighttime crowd deemed too rough for a lady of her delicate sensibilities.

But she was in London now where plays were performed each and every day. When Edward suggested tonight's outing, she'd been excited by the prospect of attending her first London theatrical, despite her display of outward calm at the time. But now that she was here, she couldn't seem to concentrate on the play.

And it was all Edward's fault.

He was too close. His large masculine frame seated barely inches away from her, one of his big gloved hands near enough to touch. Not to mention the powerful thigh on which it rested, his muscular legs outlined to perfection in a pair of snug black silk evening breeches.

Every so often, a delicious shiver of awareness traced over her flesh as though he were looking at her. But whenever she glanced sideways to check, she always found his gaze directed toward the action unfolding on stage. Her own inner musings must be causing her to react this way, she decided, making her feel things that weren't really there.

Angling another glance at him through the low light, she surreptitiously studied his profile-tracing the clean lines of his forehead and brow, and the bold shape of his patrician nose before roaming over the close-shaven plane of his cheeks to his strong, square-cut jaw and chin. And then there were his lips. His gorgeous, sensuous, elegantly sculpted lips that she had reason to know were incredibly soft and indescribably seductive.

Just thinking about those lips made her remember their kiss-The Kiss-that, try as she might, she could not seem to forget. That one and only embrace haunted her dreams and memories with a sweet longing she knew she shouldn't let herself feel. And yet still she did.

Luckily for her, Edward had made no further efforts to test her willpower on that score. Living as they were in the same house with her mother and his own family, there was little occasion for privacy, and even less chance for intimacy. Still, if he'd wanted to kiss her again, he could surely have managed the matter. But maybe a single kiss had been enough for him, sufficient to satisfy whatever curiosity had led him to take that first-and only-one.

Not that she wanted him to kiss her again, Claire assured herself. Not at all. She wanted to be rid of him, needed to be free, and if her newest salvo proved effective, she would soon have her wish. Particularly since Madame Morelle had promised to rush the order for Claire's new wardrobe-for an extra, astonishingly extravagant fee, of course!

She swallowed at the thought and the anticipated reaction. Fingers curling in her lap, she cast another glance at Edward and froze.

His gaze, so blue as to be nearly black in the dim light, was locked on her own-not imagined this time, but real. A fresh shiver traced over her skin, her lips parting on an involuntary inhalation.

"How are you enjoying the performance?" he asked in a hushed voice.

What performance? She'd scarcely listened to a word that had been said. "It's wonderful," she whispered, lying with false cheer.

"Yes, wonderful," he repeated. His brows drew together for a moment before he gave her a slight smile, then turned his attention back to the play.

With a sigh, she forced herself to do the same.

The next week passed quickly for Claire. Her days were filled with additional shopping excursions while her evenings were occupied by at-home dinners, family entertainments and the occasional excursion out on the Town.

Edward didn't always accompany the ladies. Sometimes Drake or the twins stepped in to serve as escorts when pressing business prevented the duke from fulfilling the role. Edward never deigned to explain just what his "pressing business" might be, informing her, her mother and Mallory only that he would not be able to accompany them to a particular event. At those times he would stop by the drawing room for a few minutes to wish them an enjoyable evening before he bid them adieu and withdrew with a bow.

Claire couldn't help but wonder where Edward went and what he was doing. He didn't seem the type to indulge in gambling and she'd observed his habits long enough to know he was no more than a moderate drinker. A woman, then? Was he visiting his mistress in another part of the city? After all, a man like Edward must have physical needs that required appeasement.

Of course a sheltered young lady like herself wasn't supposed to know about such things, but one heard servants' chatter on the most interesting of subjects sometimes. And so, what if Edward were carrying on with a lightskirt...? Well, that was his "business," and despite the queasy churning such thoughts gave her, she vowed to dwell on them no more.

Instead, there was her new trousseau to consider and what would happen once all of it arrived. Four of her new dresses had been delivered yesterday, but only four. The vast majority of her order was still being created-along with the bill.

Seated now in the family drawing room, she skimmed a hand over the skirt of her new green-and-white striped merino crepe day dress and tried to concentrate on her mother's conversation with Mallory. The two of them were discussing the art of decorative table painting-a topic Claire had never been able to abide.

"Which do you like better, Claire?" her mother asked. "Oranges or apples?"

She frowned. "I'm sorry. What?"

"Oranges or apples?" her mother repeated with a measure of exasperation. "Which one makes the better visual tableau? Or have you not been attending, child?"

"Your pardon, Mama. I am afraid you have caught me out. But since you have asked my opinion, then apples, I believe."

Her mother heaved a sigh. "I prefer oranges. So much more colorful to my way of thinking."

Over her mother's shoulder, Claire met Mallory's twinkling gaze, her new friend lifting her teacup to her lips to conceal a smile.

"And I have a decided preference for roses," her mother continued. "None of those woodland flowers that are so popular with some. As I told our neighbor Jessica-"

A sharp knock came at the door, interrupting Lady Edgewater in mid-sentence.

"Ever so sorry to intrude," one of the maids said. "But this letter just come by special messenger for her ladyship."

"For me! Who could be writing in such haste?" Claire's mother extended a hand to receive the missive, absently nodding her thanks as the servant bobbed a curtsey and departed from the room. Without hesitating, Lady Edgewater tore open the wax seal on the letter, a scowl descending across her brow as she read. "Oh dear. Oh good heavens!"

Claire leaned forward. "What is it, Mama? What has occurred?"

"It's Nan," her mother said, the parchment crackling faintly beneath her fingers. "She has fallen out of a tree and injured herself."

"Oh, Mama, no!" Claire clutched a hand to her chest.

"She has broken her leg and is confined to bed. The doctor has attended her and apparently she is faring well enough under the circumstances, but your father writes beseeching me to come home at once. He says he hasn't the faintest notion of how to care for a sick child, and as we all know, he does not. Of course I must go and without delay."

"What dreadful news," Mallory said. "Poor little girl. Let me call for my brother and apprise him of the matter, so that you may be quickly on your way. Edward will know precisely what is to be done. Then I shall ring for the maids to help you with your packing."

Lady Edgewater rose to her feet, reaching out a grateful hand. "Lady Mallory, you are such a dear girl. So kind and good. But oh, what is to be done about a chaperone for Claire, since the dowager duchess is not yet in residence? Your family is highly respectable and above reproach, but still some might disapprove of Claire unwed and living here with only you other young people for company."

Claire stood. "But I must come with you, Mama. Nan will be utterly miserable and in need of all the aid and comfort we can give her. I can't possibly remain behind."

Her mother's mouth firmed. "Of course you can. I am sure something may be worked out. Lady Mallory, you must have some female relation who could come to stay until your mama returns?"

Mallory nodded. "Yes, ma'am, I have any number of cousins and quite a few in Town. I expect one would be willing to relocate to the town house for a short while."

"There, you see, Claire. Everything is settled."

"But Mama-"

"No buts. The Season starts in only two more weeks and I will not have you miss an instant of it."

"I have missed the Season before," Claire said in a patient tone. "It won't be so very great a loss."

"Of course it will be!" Lady Edgewater said with a disbelieving flip of her hand. "This is your one and only opportunity to enjoy the social Season before you become a bride. It shan't be the same at all once you wed, and I will not have you miss it simply because your sister is so foolish as to have broken her leg."

"But Nan will be so unhappy-"

"And so she should," her mother declared. "How many times have I told her not to climb those trees around the house, and for this very reason too. She is headstrong and disobedient and should be thankful she hasn't suffered a worse injury than a broken leg. You are right that she'll be miserable, but she will recover."

Reaching out, she patted Claire's shoulder. "In the meantime, her distress should not be your own nor keep you from enjoying your time here in Town. Just because I have to return home doesn't mean you must suffer as well."

But I wouldn't be suffering, Claire thought. I want to go home.

But she couldn't very well tell her mother that. Her mother, who would neither approve nor understand. Mama was delighted by her engagement to the duke. If Claire ever expressed her real feelings and fears, her mother would only shake her head in confusion and ask if Claire had taken leave of her senses.

Not want to marry the duke? What nonsense! her mother would say.

If Mama had any idea what she was plotting, her mother would be aghast.

And when Edward jilts me, she thought, Mama will be far angrier with me than she is now with Nan. But she was counting on her mother and father getting over their displeasure and disappointment with her, just as they would with Nan.

Eventually.

Poor Nan. Claire sympathized with her sister, knowing she climbed trees because it made her feel alive. But now that Nan had injured herself, she would find her freedom sorely curtailed. Claire wished she could go to her, but mayhap it was better if she remained here in London for now, since if all went as planned, she would be joining her shortly.

Claire frowned. "You are sure, Mama? I would accompany you in an instant."

"I know you would," her mother said in a solemn voice. "But we shall manage at home without you. Ella will help me with your sister and we shall muddle along just fine. If it would relieve your mind, why do you not go now and write letters to them both? If you are quick about it, there should be time while I pack and the coach is made ready. Lady Mallory, perhaps you would see me to my room?"

"Of course, ma'am. And not to worry, a servant has been dispatched for my brother. He should be here anytime."

Claire curved her arms close around her body as she watched Mallory lead Lady Edgewater from the room. After giving herself a little inward shake, she went to find pen and paper.

Two hours later, amid hugs and a few tears, Claire watched her mother climb into the duke's fastest coach. With a thunk of the door and a snap of a whip, the vehicle set off, bowling along Grosvenor Square before disappearing into the crush of afternoon traffic.

As Claire turned to go inside, she found Edward at her side. His handsome features were steady and reassuring.

"She'll be fine," he told her. "Broken limbs can be very serious if not attended to properly, but you are not to worry. I have asked our family physician to see to Nan."

She tipped her head back to meet his gaze. "'See to her'? What do you mean?"

"Dr. Cole is one of the finest doctors in the country. At my request, he is traveling to Nottinghamshire to examine your sister and make sure she is receiving the very best of care. With his aid, she'll be well again in no time at all, you shall see."

Her lips parted with surprise. "Your Grace, I do not know what to say. How extraordinarily thoughtful. Thank you."

He waved off her expression of gratitude as the two of them ascended the front steps and re-entered the town house. "No thanks are needed. It is no more than I would do for any other member of my family and since Nan is to be my sister, then it seems only right she receive the same care I would give one of my own siblings."

Crossing the wide entrance hall, she walked beside him toward the main staircase. "Still, it is most generous of you," she said. "I find I am in your debt."

In his debt... which was the very last thing she wished to be. Why did he have to be so kind? And why did she have to like him, despite her best intentions not to? Hating him would make everything so much easier, would let her draw the battle lines in crisp hues of black and white, instead of muddied shades of indeterminate grey.

But wasn't that the heart of the problem? If she were indifferent, perhaps the thought of this marriage would not trouble her so. If it were merely a matter of convenience and duty, as it was for him, maybe she could make do, even be content. Was she wrong to feel this way when everyone else wanted them to wed? Was she being a fool for wanting to toss aside a life of comfort and luxury, with an admittedly good and honorable man, just because he didn't-couldn't-love her?

She turned toward him, unsure of her next words, when a reedy, bespectacled young man in a precisely tailored coat and trousers hurried up to the duke.

"Your Grace," his secretary said, "If I might intrude, perhaps you could spare a few minutes. There are several matters of a rather urgent nature still requiring resolution. I had hoped we would be able to finish them this afternoon in time to catch the last post."

Edward's brows drew together. "Yes, of course, I shall be along in a moment, Hughes." Pausing, he gazed back at Claire. "Is there anything else you require at present? I have sent word 'round to my cousin Wilhelmina, asking her to attend you while your mother is away. She has agreed and should arrive no later than dinnertime. In the meanwhile, will you be all right?"

Claire's shoulders straightened, chilled by Edward's abrupt formality. "I shall be quite well. Pray do not trouble yourself further on my behalf."

With another frown, he gave an absent nod. Turning, he fell into conversation with his secretary and strode away, the younger man walking quickly at his side, business matters pouring from his lips.

Forgotten already, she thought. I suppose I am no more important than any other item in his very long list of things to which he must attend.

For a moment, she watched Edward move away down the hall, then she swung around and took the stairs with a determined stride.

Chapter 7.

Inside his study three days later, Edward finished reading a letter from Jack, smiling as he folded the missive and set it aside.

It would seem he was an uncle twice over now, his sister-in-law Grace having given birth a week ago to a baby girl. They'd decided to name her Nicola, and Jack declared she was the most beautiful child he'd ever beheld-and not just because she was his daughter. Grace and the baby were doing splendidly, especially with Jack and Edward's mother, Ava, there to offer advice and support. Jack wrote that he and Grace hoped to come to Town this summer once Grace was recovered and the baby old enough to travel. From what Edward understood, Cade and Meg planned to journey to London this summer as well to show off their new son. Undoubtedly, it would be quite a reunion.

Edward suspected, however, that the two couples might have postponed their visits a while longer were it not for their rather poorly concealed curiosity about Claire. He had to admit that he'd taken everyone unawares with his sudden decision to go through with the betrothal, particularly since the entire family had long ago assumed he'd decided not to honor the old arrangement made by their father and Claire's. But circumstances changed and so had his view of the betrothal.

To his relief, it seemed as though Claire had acclimated herself to the idea of their engagement as well, her initial resistance having apparently faded once she'd arrived in Town. Claire seemed content enough, she and Mallory getting on like bosom friends from the very first. He would give her the next several weeks to enjoy the Season and then they would proceed with the wedding.

Meanwhile, he was still working on solving the puzzle of who had killed Everett, as well as identifying the man Everett had named a few days before his death.

Wolf.

The name could be real or an alias. He and his contacts at the War Office still didn't know which, despite extensive attempts to locate someone answering to that surname. The man could be nearly anyone, if it was indeed an assumed name. Although if he was the same shadowy figure Meg had glimpsed meeting with Everett that night two Seasons ago, then it narrowed the field somewhat. They had her description of the man, even if it was vague.

Then as now, Edward had been secretly working to uncover the identity of a spy buried deep in the system-a mole who had access to information at the highest levels of the government. After Everett's initial capture, the mole had disappeared. At first, they'd wondered if Everett himself was the man, and if by catching him, they'd ended the leak. But last fall, with Everett firmly in custody, information had begun going astray once more. The mole, they quickly realized, was still free and clear and operating with impunity.

Was the mole this Wolf, or someone else entirely?

And was Wolf Everett's killer or not? Edward's only lead was a pair of corroborating reports from a couple of the soldiers who remembered seeing a new man in the vicinity of Everett's cell block around noontime on the day of his murder. The man had been dressed in a lieutenant's uniform and none of the soldiers had thought to question his presence, assuming he'd come over from another regiment. He'd left no name, nor had he been seen since.

Taking out a sheath of notes and reports, Edward began to read them again, hoping for some clue he might have missed. He was deep into the stack when he became aware of a frenzy of activity going on in the front of the house. From the sound of it, the house was being invaded, there were so many footsteps going to and fro. Curious, he tucked the papers back inside the leather folio in which they were kept, then locked them inside a drawer in his desk.

Standing, he walked out of his study and down the hall. Near the front entrance he stopped, struck by the sight of a virtual army of deliverymen making their way up and down the main staircase. Even his own footmen had been enlisted in the effort.

"Croft," Edward called, signaling his butler. "What in the world is all this?"

The usually unflappable older man glanced over, his expression faintly dismayed. "A delivery, Your Grace. From the mantua maker, I am given to understand."

As Edward watched, another three servants came through the open front door, their arms stacked high with boxes. Angling their heads to see around their burdens, each man carefully negotiated the stairs in a small but impressive procession. As they did, more servants returned downstairs and back out the door, apparently intending to retrieve more from the wagon parked outside.

Edward raised a single eyebrow at the spectacle. The second brow joined its mate when he heard high-pitched feminine squeals echoing from one of the bedchambers upstairs. Obviously boxes were being opened and garments revealed, much to the ladies' great delight.

He was trying to decide how to react to all the commotion when Croft appeared at his elbow, a silver salver containing a letter held in the servant's hand. "This arrived with the delivery, Your Grace. Shall I give it to Mr. Hughes for his attention?"